A survivor's guide to teenage parenting involving rabbit feet, four leaf clovers and going to Church on Sunday.

Sunday, 2 June 2013

The Human Alarm Clock

I am off to foreign climes, where the sun does shine, to earn the Yankee dollar and sit in meeting rooms where the sun does not shine. This calls upon me to get-up an ungodly hour to face the taxi drive to a nearest airport.

My son on the otherhand is not getting up at ungodly hour because he will already be up at an ungodly hour. He has announced his intention to party in some home somewhere and return sometime in the night that may be morning. Initially described as a home, under interrogation it becomes a house, but under further interrogation it is apparently a building, occasionally occupied by a club and therefore perfect for rock'n' roll or as hip-hop rave or something. We are grateful for his announcement, albeit with so many caveats it probably needs a legal review. It would have been nice to have been asked, but this still should be seen as a positive that we were still in the circle of trust to at least be informed.

We can still worry, but at least we know what we are worrying about. I think.

He says he may be late.

I feel our ships in the night that becomes morning may cross, my breakfast will be his supper. No need for an alarm clock for me then.

Unfortunately I was dreaming that maybe things were different in your world. Rest assured my son neither knows where the kettle is nor how to turn tit on. He can find a packet of cereal and a bowl, if pushed.